


Sometimes You Get What You Want (No Matter What They Say You Need)

by infiniteeight



Series: A/B/O Domesticity [1]
Category: Rambo Series (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 20:04:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12991518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/pseuds/infiniteeight
Summary: His whole life, people have been telling John that he's not going to have the kind of life most omegas have. They give him a hundred other options... but no one seems to care what he actually wants.When someone finally asks, John doesn't expect it to change anything.(Starts after Rambo 3, in an A/B/O 'verse, of course.)





	Sometimes You Get What You Want (No Matter What They Say You Need)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story in a series. The rest of the series is going to be ridiculous Alphas/Omega domestic fluff, but I need to get John and Sam together first, so this first story is a mildly angsty not-quite-PWP.

John doesn’t remember the first time someone said it. It’s always been a part of how people look at him, from since before he can remember:

 _“You can’t count on alpha to take care of you,”_ they’d say. _“You’re going to have to take care of yourself._

When he gets older, he meets omegas who speak the same words with bitterness, and from them it means that alphas are unreliable, selfish bastards, but that’s not how people have always meant it when they say it to John. When they say it to him, it means that no alpha is ever going to want to bond with him.

His parents don’t buy him dolls like the other omega children have. When he plays house with his omega peers, he always has to play the alpha. “You can’t be the omega,” they always tell him, like it’s obvious, and never say why.

He’s barely five the first time the first time someone tells him to his face that he’s ugly. It’s another child who says it, but even at five he can see the looks the adults exchange and while he doesn’t entirely understand, and the other child is reprimanded, he can tell that it’s true.

It only gets worse as he gets older. He’s got a square jaw and a strong brow. Omegas don’t have to be _delicate_ , but they’re not supposed to look like they’re ready to sock you one even when they’re not trying to be aggressive. When he tries to be skinny, he looks starved. When he works out, figuring that if he can’t do slender or curvy maybe he can do athletic, he discovers that he puts on muscle like crazy. When he stops working out, that muscle turns to flab, which just makes him feel alienated from his own body, so he starts working out again, and the muscles come back and then some.

By the time John turns sixteen, the pity and distaste has mostly given way to anger in some and envy in others. _“One of_ those _omegas,”_ the angry ones say. _“Wants to be an alpha. Thinks he doesn’t need anyone.”_ The envious ones--mostly other omegas--look at his broad shoulders and his muscles and the way alphas ignore him and say, _“Must be nice, not having to fight for every bit of independance. Must be nice, not having to deal with the comments, or the constant propositions. Must be nice, not being asked every five minutes how many kids you want and when.”_

The omegas tell him everything they would do if they were in his place, and everyone else tells him everything he has to do because he’s obviously not suited to the usual path. And John tries. He tries really goddamn hard, every second of every day for as long as he can remember, because _“You’re going to have to make this work”_ is the only option he has. He puts everything he has into living the free, independent, self-focused life laid out in front of him.

And he _hates_ it.

He doesn’t want to be on his own. He doesn’t want a career. He joins the Army because when everyone asks what he’s wants to do after high school--what college, what trade school, what job--he knows he can’t give the real answer and he doesn’t have another one. When John tells people he’s joining the Army, they look at him and nod knowingly and he hates that, too.

He spends most of his service trying to convince himself that he can be happy doing this. He’s good at it, and he’s got his team to watch out for, and that’s something, right? But he loses them, one after another, and no, no he can’t do this. 

John can admit that he stops trying, after that. He gives up and just… lets things happen. He burns half of Hope, Washington to the ground and it’s like an out of body experience. He’s not really there, not until he crawls into Trautman’s stiff, awkward embrace at the end of it. He goes back to Vietnam more because Trautman hates seeing him in prison than because he cares about his freedom. 

It’s easier to live day by day in Thailand than in prison, though. John thinks as little as he can manage. The monastery helps with that, and when he gets too agitated and stuck in his own head he goes into Bangkok and finds himself a fight. He never starts out strong, because he has to get beaten down a little before his training kicks in and turns off his brain, but he always wins.

Trautman’s arrival is an unwelcome reminder that the rest of the world exists. John says no to the mission and wonders every day if he made the right call. Then Trautman is captured and the only thing that matters is getting him back.

Trautman understands John better than anybody, even if he misses the most important thing, like everyone else. Trautman couldn’t be more wrong what goes into that empty space inside John, but at least he sees that it’s _there_. John can’t lose that.

That doesn’t make it any less infuriating when Trautman tries to insist, again, that John could be happy if he’d just embrace the part of himself that lets him walk into a Soviet base and break Trautman out. John tries to wait the argument out, like usual. They’re in a fucking cave in Afghanistan, camping on the way out, and they’ve both got holes in them, you’d think he’d give it a rest, but no.

“Stop!” John finally snaps. Trautman actually looks surprised. He opens his mouth, but the words are pouring out of John now, so full of frustration that he knows he’s slurring a bit. “Just stop. Just because I’m good at that shit doesn’t mean it makes me happy. If that’s all I needed, don’t you think I’d have come back by now? I _know_ what I need to be happy, and this isn’t it.”

“If you know what you need, why haven’t you gone out and gotten it, then?” Trautman asks impatiently.

“Because I can’t!”

“Why not?” Trautman snaps back. “What is it that you _want_?”

It’s the first time anyone has ever asked John that and sounded like they wanted the real answer. The words tear themselves out of him like all they were waiting for was the opening, and when they spill forth he’s almost shouting: “I want an alpha to take me to mate.” 

Trautman is staring, and fuck, that was a really old fashioned way of putting it, but it’s also _right_. John is heaving in gulps of breath like saying the words was a physical effort, but he’s not done yet. “I want to keep a den for them. I want--” his voice breaks “--I want _kids_. Family. Fuck, I want a lot of kids. I want to stay at home and… and kiss skinned knees better and soothe hurt feelings. I want to be the one my alpha goes to when they need to let go and be at ease.” John clenches his jaw and looks away, helplessly angry at every goddamned alpha who's never going to want him.

For a long moment the only sound is the crackling of the fire they built for the night. “I’m sorry,” Trautman says, but before John can shoot back, _‘Yeah, me too,’_ he goes on, “but I still don’t understand why you can’t have that.”

John snorts harshly. “Look at me, sir. What alpha would want me for a mate?”

“I would.”

John’s head snaps up, sharp words jumping to his lips, but when he meets Trautman’s gaze he realizes that the alpha is _serious_. There’s a longing in Trautman’s eyes that John recognizes. As John stares at him, stunned, the alpha’s lips twist into a wry smile and he says, “If you’d have me.”

“Of course I would,” John blurts. The words are rough, forced out past a knot of emotion in his throat, but he has to get them out there, afraid that Trautman will misunderstand again if he hesitates. Of course John would have him, a hundred times over, but part of him still can’t believe that Trautman would want John. 

Trautman’s gaze grows gentle. He gets up and comes around the fire, sits down on the sleeping pallet next to John and carefully reaches out to turn John to face him, as if afraid of spooking him. “John,” Trautman says quietly, fingers warm against his jaw, and that’s when John realizes that he’s tense from head to toe, every muscle clenched. “Let me take care of you.”

John’s eyes close, a broken, half sob escaping him. Trautman, thank God, understands; he pulls John closer instead of letting go. John leans hard against him, face turned into the curve of Trautman’s throat, both of Trautman’s arms around him. Alpha musk is heavy in the air. John doesn’t know if that’s because of the situation or because of the fact that they haven’t been able to bathe properly, but either way John is glad for it. He sucks in deep breaths, filling himself with that scent, feeling starved for it.

It takes awhile before John can relax, even so. He’s never done it before, after all. Not like this. But slowly his muscles unclench and his breaths even out and his mind calms. He doesn’t panic when Trautman pulls back a little. The kiss that follows starts off slow, but as they grow more confident in it a pit of hunger opens up in John. His arms go around Trautman in turn, pulling him closer, and then Trautman is bearing him down onto the pallet. The kiss breaks only for seconds as they arrange themselves and every time they return to it it’s deeper, hungrier. John ends up on his back, Trautman’s weight-- _his alpha’s_ weight--on top of him. 

John is both heavier and stronger, he could easily throw Trautman off if he wanted to, but it isn’t being pinned--or even the idea of it--that John likes. No, he likes having his alpha between him and the rest of the world. He likes the constant, low key reminder that Trautman is _there_. 

John doesn’t know how long they lay there, kissing hungrily. He feels suspended in the moment, surrounded by Trautman’s scent, wrapped in heat, filled up with the taste of him, his body heavy with arousal. He parts his legs so that Trautman can settle into the cradle of his hips. They’re both hard, of course. But the best part isn’t the smell or the hot throb of Trautman’s cock against his, or even the kiss. The best part is when Trautman turns his head a little, his nose nudging at John’s jaw, and slowly laves his tongue over the scent glands just beneath it.

The moan rumbles out of John, pulled from somewhere no one else has reached, because no one has done that before. That’s how you end up bonded. One lick isn’t going to do it, of course. It takes months to build a bond even when you’re trying, and most of the work gets done during a heat, when alpha and omega both drip the oils instead of just barely leaking them.

Still, most partners avoid the scent glands if the relationship isn’t serious, though a one night stand will occasionally go there just for the thrill.

Even John’s one night stands stayed the hell away from his neck and jaw.

Trautman pulls back and John doesn’t quite catch the disappointed noise before it escapes. Their eyes meet and John realizes that Trautman was only pulling back to speak. To tease, maybe. “It’s okay,” he says instead. “I’m not going to stop.”

“Neither of us are in any shape for anything serious, anyway,” John admits. Trautman has an injured shoulder, and John’s side and leg are in even worse shape. 

But Trautman chuckles and kisses John long and hard instead of agreeing. “Just because I can’t get inside you right now doesn’t mean it’s not serious, John.”

“Sir--”

“Sam,” Trautman interrupts.

John flushes, with pleasure or embarrassment he’s honestly not sure. Maybe both. “Sam,” he corrects himself. “I didn’t mean that you were taking this lightly. Hell, I didn’t mean that I was. I just meant that we’re going to have wait to mate properly.”

“I know,” Sam says carefully. “That’s what I was talking about, too. It’s not about what we do, John, it’s about why and how.” He pauses, studying John for a moment, and then smiles. Not a gentle smile, or a careful smile, or a wry smile. No, this is a wicked, anticipatory smile. “I promise,” he murmurs, leaning in close to John’s ear, “that when we are done here, you will feel very properly mated.”

John’s breath catches. Sam’s breath washes hotly over John’s ear and the curve of his throat. He lays an open mouthed kiss over John’s scent glands before raising his head and bringing their mouths back together. 

John is so lost in the kisses that he doesn’t register Sam’s hand at the fly of his pants until there are fingers sliding firmly over his belly, pushing back the elastic of his undershorts. He groans, breaking the kiss, and tries to lift his hips, but Sam is still mostly on top of him, body tilted aside just enough to give him room to work, and John’s got no leverage.

“Sam,” John pants.

“I’ve got you,” Sam promises. He pushes shorts and pants down just enough to get at John’s cock. His grip is hot and certain, but he only gives John a couple of strokes before settling back down directly on top of him and _fuck_ , Sam had gotten out of his own pants at some point because his cock is pressed close alongside John’s. Sam is hanging onto John’s shoulder with his good arm, giving him leverage to rock his hips and grinding down harder, but it feels like he’s holding John to him. Maybe it’s both. All John knows is that he feels like Sam is taking him apart and holding him together at the same time.

“You feel so good against me,” Sam says, dragging his lips over John’s jaw again. 

John moans and raises his chin a little, inviting Sam to taste his scent glands again, and he _does_. There’s no hesitation in his touch, and no blustery aggression either. Just confidence. John is wet with slick, but he doesn’t even care that there’s no way either of them can get at his ass, not when he can feel the ridge of Sam’s half-swollen knot against his cock and has the soft touch of lips and tongue on his throat.

The next time they kiss John can taste his own scent on Sam’s tongue. It makes his whole body throb, makes him grab hold of Sam’s hips and pull their bodies together hard. And then he realizes: he hasn’t tasted _Sam_ yet. When he breaks the kiss and spares a hand from Sam’s hip to pull him down so that John can get his lips on that spot below Sam’s jaw, Sam gasps, “ _Yes_.” 

Sam’s scent oils taste _incredible_. Once he has his mouth on them John can’t seem to tear himself away. He wonders if he’s leaving marks, with the way he can’t help nipping and sucking. The thought makes John feel dizzy, but it’s okay, Sam has a hold of him.

John’s still licking at Sam’s jaw line when they come. First Sam, moaning roughly, hips grinding down against John as he spills over him, and then John. He swears he can taste Sam’s orgasm. Maybe it’s all in his head, but the thought finishes him anyway, clutching Sam close as he comes.

The descent from climax is slower than John is used to. Sometimes it’s almost an emotional crash; he likes it better when it takes as long as it does to catch his breath. This time he still feels a warm, easy pleasure under his skin even when his breath and heart rate have both calmed. Sam moves enough to use a corner of a blanket to wipe them both off, but otherwise remains curled up mostly over John, his head on John’s shoulder. John has an arm around him, and finds himself absently stroking Sam’s back.

“So,” Sam says after a long while, “do you feel properly mated?”

John thinks about it. He feels… grounded. Calm. Connected to Sam in a way that’s new and yet completely comfortable. “Yeah,” he replies eventually, turning his head to meet Sam’s eyes. They’re close enough to kiss, but he doesn’t feel like he needs to, even though he knows how nice it is. “Yeah, I think I do.”

Sam smiles. “Good. Me too.” He hesitates, but eventually adds, “I’m looking forward to bringing you home. I wanted you a lot closer to me long before now.”

The thought of returning to the States makes John’s gut clench. It’s a given, of course. Sam’s home and family and career are there. But being in the U.S., for John, is synonymous with rejection. “It’ll take me awhile to get used to it,” he says.

“I’ll be there every step of the way,” Sam promises.

He doesn’t say, _You’re not alone anymore_ or _You’re not unwanted anymore_ , but John can hear those things in his voice, too. Sam has been trying to take care of him for years, John realizes. He’d gone about it all wrong, but he’d been _trying_. 

John closes his eyes and touches his forehead to Sam’s. “Home. Don’t know that I’ve ever really had one of those.”

“It’ll take some work,” Sam says.

“Most things do.” John’s not sure he’d trust it if it came easy. He opens his eyes and meets Sam’s gaze. “But we’ll figure it out.”

~End~


End file.
